Carefully Laid Plans
by December Writing Dragon
Summary: Witness the rapid deterioration of what was supposed to be a fun night out drinking. But Russia is resourceful; he knows how to solve certain situations, and his solution is to his and America's benefit anyway. RusAme oneshot. Alcohol use.


From the kiss meme on tumblr; prompt was for a drunk kiss. Reviews appreciated!

 **Carefully Laid Plans**

Russia was in a strange limbo between content and agitated. His relaxation was quite near at hand; he was at a rather high end bar, with America, and a constant supply of some very good vodka that was causing warmth to pool in his stomach as it trailed a scorching path down his throat. His head was feeling quite light because of it. But never mind that- he and America had the whole weekend to themselves now, so if he wanted to indulge in some spirits, now was the opportune time.

Speaking of America, there lied the source of his mild annoyance. Alfred was also rather enjoying the alcohol. It was causing him to sing. Badly. Ivan knew Alfred could sing quite well indeed; when sober, his voice had a melodious deep waver to it that brought to mind images of endless desert and blue skies stretching on for ages, of sun and grass and good company.

Throw in some alcohol, however, and Russia was quite surprised people were not getting up to leave from the ungodly torture upon their ear drums. Thick calloused fingers rubbed at his temple as he felt an early headache come on. Suddenly, his own beloved beverage was exacerbating his despair. Between the eardrum torture beside him and the vodka working through his system, Russia's great night out was turning into a chore.

"Fedya," Ivan slurred. He cleared his throat. " _Amerika_ ," he added recklessly, his hand waving sloppily through the air as it attempted to land on America's shoulder.

"What is it, Russiaaaaaa?" America continued to sing in that same grating tone.

Suddenly, Russia felt the ache in his cranium begin to pulse. The room swam slightly as he groaned and rested his head against the counter.

A warm hand came fumbling over his face, pinching his nose. "Come ooon," Alfred sang. "Don't be a Mr. Grumpy Ruski!"

Russia had an idea. Mustering whatever coordination remained within him, he grabbed onto America's shoulders, feeling them both sway dangerously in their inebriated state. His hands slid clumsily down Alfred's arms as the latter bumped sloppily against his chest. Russia bent down, lips pursed-

And planted a kiss on America's cheek.

Target missed. But no matter. Without once breaking the connection, Russia slid his soft pale lips against America's warm tanned cheek until he- more by coincidence than actually knowing where to go- arrived at his lips, where he proceeded to massage his mouth, America reciprocating the action in earnest. Their lips began an inarticulate dance, slow, quick, slow, quick, somehow in perfect time with their heartbeat.

Mission accomplished. Target was successfully rendered silent. America's mouth was far too occupied with locking lips with Russia to continue issuing that awful singing, a fact neither seemed to mind.

"Ah, there you two still are," a far more sober and silky voice said. They separated by about an inch to see- hazily- France standing there with an amused expression dancing across his face. "I will be escorting these two home, sir," he said, slipping a crisp bill out of his pocket and slapping it down on the table. "I am afraid I must hurry. I have another already waiting in my car in need of an escort. Never could hold his alcohol, that one." With a wink, France turned on heel, a fellow country clinging to either elbow as he guided them outside. The bartender was only to glad to be rid of all these people who- after downing a few glasses- took to referring to each other by their homeland. The gentleman the Frenchman had mentioned, that Arthur "England" Kirkland had animated recounted the Canterbury Tales in a one-man performance, using the bar as a stage.

"I need a new job. Or to move my business," the bartender murmured as Alfred began wailing/singing and Ivan leaned across France to silence him with another kiss that sent the two of them crashing to the ground at Francis's feet. Sprawled on the pavement, the two nations resumed kissing, completely oblivious to the gentle drizzle of rain soaking their clothes, or the amused Frenchman attempting to drag them both- still locked at the lips- to his car, or the Englishman shouting "Water, water everywhere and not a single drop to drink!" from said car.


End file.
